


Kamikaze Gift Exchange

by Liver_Transplant



Series: Supernatural stuff [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, Charlie Bradbury Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Co-workers, Coffee Shops, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Monthly One Shot Challenge, Other, at least for me, mentioned john wincester, soft, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liver_Transplant/pseuds/Liver_Transplant
Summary: Prompt: Person A's best friends rigs the secret Santa because they know person A has a crush on person B.Charlie was maniacal. She was twisted and...devious down to her very core. She was the Riddler to his Batman, Thelma to his Louise. He didn’t know how she did it, but Dean knew that she had messed with the Secret Santa drawing because there was no damn way in hell that he got his crush's name on accident. Plus, she was the only one he’d told, but…...Could Charlie's plan really work?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural stuff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499672
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74
Collections: Destiel Instagram One Shot/Art Contest - December 2019





	Kamikaze Gift Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> For the writing part of the December Destiel one-shot contest.
> 
> This is me actively trying not to write angst for once, wish me luck.

Charlie was maniacal. She was twisted and...devious down to her very core. She was the Riddler to his Batman, Thelma to his Louise. He didn’t know how she did it, but Dean knew that she had messed with the Secret Santa drawing because there was no damn way in hell that he got his crush's name on accident. Plus, she was the only one he’d told, so…

Dean worriedly poured himself a steaming mug of coffee, oblivious to his surroundings. How could he get proof? Without proof of Charlie’s wrongdoing, there was no way he could confront the short redhead without sounding like a lunatic. Then again, they’d known each other for so damn long that she already knew about his crazy, and likewise, he knew hers. He set down the pot, having finished filling his cup. Absentmindedly he grabbed a packet of sugar and dumped it in, not particularly caring (‘ _Big lie’_ , his brain helpfully shouted) if it made his coworkers doubt his ‘macho-man persona’ as Charlie liked to call it. 

“I wasn’t aware you took your coffee with sugar.” A deep voice noted. 

Dean snapped his head to the side where, lo and behold, there was his big girly man-crush, looking at him with that serious expression. The one person he actually cared about impressing. 

“Uhhh. It’s cocaine.” He choked.

“Pardon me?” Castiel tilted his head. Dean felt his face flush. 

“Not. It’s not cocaine, I swear.” He mimed glancing to the side as if he’d heard a voice, “Oh, wouldja look at that, someone’s calling my name.”

The head tilt got worse, but now Cas wore a slightly amused visage as well, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “I don’t hear anything.”

Dean coughed, sidestepping Cas, “I’ll talk to you later, that person sounds like they really need help…” He trailed off, starting to leave before he remembered his coffee. He spun, nabbed the mug, and legged it out as calmly as possible, where he barely missed face-planting the wall. He heard a soft giggle from the direction he’d just escaped and pulled his hand down his face, sighing.  
_‘Well, that went well.’_ His brain thought _._

 _‘Shut up.’_ He told it. 

He walked across the office with haste, crossed the hall to the small space the IT gremlins inhabited, and plopped down at his desk dramatically. He rested his head in his hands, gently pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

“Who rained on your parade?” A perky voice inquired. 

“Not now, Charlie. Now is the time we fake our deaths and leave, never to be seen again.”

She pulled up a chair, swinging it ‘round and sat, arms resting on the back of the chair, “Ooof. Pulling out all the stops this time, huh? Alright, tell your fairy gay-mother everything.” She looked at Dean expectantly, employing her best puppy dog stare. 

Dean sunk back in his seat, head loling against the backrest.

“I...May or may not have...um. Told Cas I was putting cocaine in my coffee.” He mumbled. 

Her eyebrows shot up, “I’m sorry, WHAT?” 

He spun the chair to face her, “I don’t know what came over me, I was zoned out thinking about how you probably rigged the secret Santa, then I felt like spicing things up a bit, so I added some sugar, and next thing I know, there Cas is, asking me if I normally take my coffee with sugar. So, I panicked and…Are you laughing?” He stared at her in disbelief as she practically dissolved into choking laughs.

He schooled his features into an indignant expression, “I’ll have you know that I am highly _traumatized._ ”

She only laughed harder.

She wheezed, unable to vocalize her delight any longer. Charlie’s face was covered in tears, which tumbled down her now beet-red cheeks. By the time she could breathe again, Dean had covered his face with a coat and was groaning. Her bright grin dropped a little. 

Charlie sighed, “So, lemme get this straight, you were so freaked about being judged for putting sugar in your coffee that...you came up with an excuse that wouldn’t harm your fragile little masculinity?” She wiped her tears and put on her best mother hen face. Ouch, that hurt.

Dean grabbed the coat and slowly pulled it off of his face, looking at his best friend. 

“Yeah. Pretty much. I can’t really help that.” They sat for a while, which allowed Dean to think; try to clear his head. Maybe if he’d tried harder when he was younger, to be a better, stronger son for his dad, maybe then he’d have the fortitude to avoid situations like this. He stopped himself. That was the kind of thinking that made everything worse, and his self-image was already bad enough. Charlie watched him carefully, quietly considering. 

“Wow. Dean, I’m sorry.” She bowed her head, ashamed. 

He quirked a brow, confused. “For what?” Charlie spun her wheely chair quickly, gravity whipping her auburn hair around her head, trying to avoid eye contact. She slowed to a stop, hair in her eyes. 

“Well…” She hesitated, “...Sometimes I forget what it must’ve been like growing up with your dad. You had to worry about so many little things to appease him and-” Dean put his hand up to shush her. “I’ll stop ya right there. He’s dead. He doesn’t affect me anymore.”

She sighed again, “That’s not how trauma works.”

“Nope, not today Satan.” He waved her off.

Charlie stood hurriedly, stretching upwards in a vaguely embracing motion, “Come on, give me a hug, ya know you wanna.” Dean smiled, standing to join her before instantly pulling the shorter woman into his arms, squeezing tightly. She always knew how to turn a mood around, her very presence brought up the atmosphere of a room.

She yelped, returning the embrace with vigor. They stood like that for a minute, before Dean pulled away gently, sitting back down with a flop. 

“Wooo. Feelings time is officially over for the day.” He pumped his fist, smirking.

His friend stared at him as if saying, _nuh-uh,_ with her eyes. She mimicked the raised brow move he’d done moments ago, nonchalantly inquiring, “What are you going to give Angel Eyes for secret Santa?”

“Charlie! I called him that one time! I was drunk and tired, and...I have no idea. Shoot. Help me, Char, what does he like?” 

She chuckled and leaned forward, preparing to give her best dungeon master speech when she saw the desperation in Dean’s eyes. Charlie paused, watching him. She shook her head and muttered, “Bees. He likes bees.”

Dean’s nose crinkled in concentration, freckles scrunched, “I can make that work.” He tapped a pen on his knee, deep in thought. Suddenly, he halted, “Hey. We said we were done with feelings.” 

Charlie wavered, almost out of their shared office, half-in half-out of the door. Her eyes were comically wide, “Yessss. So we did. Now I must go, to counsel other wayward souls. Talk to ya later, toodles!” The last bit was almost one word. She stepped out of the room, making herself scarce like a leaf on the wind. 

‘Huh,’ Dean thought. 

Later that night, after work, Dean swung by the local market. He hopped out of his car, patting her hood lovingly as he locked her up. Slipping his keys into his pockets, he made his way across the parking lot and through the double-wide automatic doors. He was blasted by a burst of A.C, the cold air waking him up a bit. 

He wandered around, humming quietly to himself. He walked in the vague direction of bee-like products and was met by a wall of various arrays of novelty soaps, all organic, of course. He stared, awestruck at the massive selection. Reaching carefully forward, he picked up a pretty looking one and gave it a whiff.

The sweet, slightly tangy aroma tickled his nose, making him have to sneeze. Dean hastily returned it to its slot on the shelf, wrinkling his nose to try and stop the sneeze. Just as he was about to let ‘er rip, a friendly voice greeted him.

“Hello sir, may I assist you today?” A young man in his twenties had spoken, dressed in the store’s uniform.

Dean managed to hold the sneeze, making an odd face, “Yeah, actually. I’m looking for a gift for a friend. They really like bees, and I’m trying to find something nice, but I’m out of my depth here. Maybe some socks?” He pondered. 

The guy jiggled his leg, thinking.“Hmm. Sounds like you want to get something special. What about some local honey?” He pointed over his shoulder at a display down the aisle. He made a ‘follow me’ gesture and started meandering towards the section. Dean followed, albeit a little faster.

The guy pointed out some name brands along with the rural stuff he’d first mentioned. Each time the guy brought up something new, Dean politely dismissed it, claiming it wasn’t just right. After a while, the poor employee looked a bit tired, but still had some fight left in him.

“Ok, what about some royal jelly?” The guy, Jake, suggested. 

Dean blinked tiredly, “What?”

“It’s the pollen that queen bees’ eat. It’s full of amino acids, vitamins, and salts. It’s a bit pricey though, especially the fresh stuff. Despite that, it’s really good for you, and definitely something you might consider getting your special someone.” Jake wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Dean flushed a bright burgundy, his face heating up, “He’s not…” He let the sentence drop off unfinished. Jake smiled and pulled out a notepad from his fanny pack. 

“Here,” He scribbled an address on the paper with looping handwriting, “This guys our supplier, normally I’d say get it here, but royal jelly is much better quality fresh.” He folded the note carefully and handed it to Dean, who took it, grinning. 

“Thanks, man.”

“Welcome, have a nice night.” Jake ambled away to find others to assist, whistling ‘Hey Jude’ under his breath. The softly sung tune pulled Dean briefly into a memory of his late mother singing it to him as he fell asleep, encompassed in the warmth of her embrace. He shook his head, dispelling the daydream away like a cloud of dust.

He glanced down, remembering the note. Dean slowly unfolded it to find the address, as well as a little message below it, simply saying. ‘ _Good Luck_.’

* * *

It was a week later, and that afternoon was the gift exchange. Moreover, Dean was a little flustered, to say the least. He clicked away at his computer for what seemed like hours, when in reality, it was probably just minutes, before standing and resuming his anxious pacing as calmly as possible.

Charlie snapped her head up over the cubicle divider between their spaces, halfheartedly glaring at Dean, “Your pacing is distracting.”

“Sorry. I’ll leave, it’s my break anyway.” Dean muttered, grabbing his computer and stuffing it into his satchel, which he then swung over his shoulder.

“Thank you. And hey, Dean. Good luck.” She shot a caring look his way prior to ducking back down to hunch over her laptop. With that, she was back in her little world, fixing the latest bug in the company’s firewall. 

Dean walked out of the main office and entered the elevator, carefully pushing the ground floor button. The doors started closing and had almost shut when a voice yelled, “Wait!” and ran forward, shoving a shoulder betwixt the doors, effectively jamming them open. 

The man, who Dean now recognized as Castiel, appeared to have just sprinted a great distance, his wild dark hair was blown back and his tie thrown over his shoulder. He panted, leaning against the cool railing that circled the sides of the elevator and turned to look at Dean, “Thanks.”

Dean glanced away, “Welcome.”

Cas peered at the numbers on the little screen changing slowly as the lift brought them down, “May I ask where you’re headed?”

“Just the coffee shop down the block,” Dean replied, feeling the residual embarrassment from their last encounter. It instantaneously faded, however, when he met Cas’ blue eyes. 

“How odd, as am I.” Cas considered for a moment, “Would you like to ‘hang’?” He asked, using air quotes.

Dean laughed, “Sure.” 

The doors dinged, sliding open out onto the ground floor. Castiel gestured to the exit, “Go ahead.” Following Cas’s offer, they left the building and walked down the street to the cafe. The shop itself was little as well as cozy, with warm walls and decor. Light jazz played as a backtrack and the smell of freshly baked scones wafted through the air around them. The door jingled when they entered, swinging shut behind them. 

They ordered and chose a booth near the back where they could watch the comings and goings of the small shop. While they waited for their orders to arrive, the two men chatted.

Dean found himself confessing that the idea of approaching someone with a gift they might hate in front of a large group of people made him slightly uncomfortable, something which just a year ago he would’ve readily denied. He’d come a long way since John had passed.

To his surprise, Castiel agreed, noting his general distaste for large gatherings, “Hmm. Speaking of which, would you like your gift Dean?” 

Dean sputtered, choking lightly on his scone, which had since arrived. He gulped down the pastry in a, not at all attractive manner that made him blush, “I’m your secret Santa person?”

Cas frowned, “Yes, is that a problem?”

Dean choked again, this time on his haste to deny Cas’ accusation, “No, not at all. Just surprised, that’s all.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you’re mine.”

“Ah.” Cas’ brow unfurled and an amused expression manifested itself onto his face.

“Not that way.” Dean felt his face flushing for what felt like the tenth time that day.

Cas raised a brow, entertained. He watched the other man for a minute, then reached into his work bag and pulled out a small green gift-wrapped box, the color of the paper matching Dean’s eyes. 

It was Cas’ turn to blush, as he slid the box towards dean. Unlike his taller companion though, he maintained eye contact. Dean took his time opening the wrapping, carefully pully at the tape so it didn’t rip the fragile paper, even taking care to fold up the ribbon that had adorned the package. Cas was patient, not rushing Dean, but instead allowing him to conserve as much of the materials for later, a habit he’d picked up when John would leave him and Sammy alone with little to no money for food, let alone wrapping paper. 

Eventually, Dean finished, reaching into the container and pulling out a necklace depicting a brass humanoid figurehead with horns, strung on a black cord that could easily fit over the wearers head.

Dean marveled at the detailed face, holding the necklace up to eye-level to get a better view.

“According to lore, it’s supposed to burn hot in the presence of God. Unfortunately, I have no idea how accurate that information is, but Charlie said you’d like it.” Cas twiddled his thumbs, a cute nervous tick that Dean would’ve liked to spend more time admiring if he hadn’t been distracted by Castiel’s statement.

“Wait, Charlie helped you pick this out?”

“Yes. She was quite helpful.”

“Huh.” The plot was getting thicker, “Thank you Cas, I love it.” Dean grinned and slipped the cord around his neck.

Cas coughed, “Glad you do.”

Dean dug in his bag, quickly finding Castiel’s gift and handing it to him.

“It seems we were each other’s secret Santa.” Cas jokes, taking equal care with the wrapping on his gift.

“I prefer the term, ‘kamikaze gift exchange."

Cas laughed, a sweet sound in his rough voice. 

He pulled out a small jar labeled in a rich, looping script and gasped in delight, “Dean! You didn’t.” He twisted off the cap and skimmed a very small amount of the goo off the top and put it into his mouth. 

Cas gasped, pulling his finger out, “This is absolutely disgusting.”

Dean’s froze, dismayed, and he started to apologize when Cas interrupted him, “I love it.” 

He dipped his finger back in for more and grimaced slightly at the taste, before continuing,” Did you know, Dean, that the worse royal honey tastes, the fresher it is?”

“No?” Dean smiled tentatively at Cas, who returned it tenfold.

“Actually, the fresher it is, the higher the price. This must’ve cost you a fortune.” He looked at Dean with deep admiration, causing Dean’s heart to squeeze, this time with love. He blinked in surprise at himself, shaking his head.

Cas continued to geek out, going on about how a queen’s lifespan is more than tripled by consuming this miraculous substance, and that it’s partially made from worker bee spit, who take care of it religiously. Dean watched, peering at the lines of Castiel’s face, feeling boldened by his infectious enthusiasm. 

“You enamor me, Castiel Novak,” 

Cas paused his speech, looking straight into Dean’s eyes, “Likewise.”

They stared at each other, both waiting for the other to continue. Cas went first.

“I would like to do this again. Perhaps this weekend, at five?”

“Hmm. Does the Roadhouse sound good?”

“Why yes, That’ll do.”

Dean grinned, beaming at Cas, who returned the gesture. They exchanged numbers and made their way back to the office to their respective desks. Charlie had already gone home for the day, and there was a note on her desk that said ‘ _how’d it go?’_ with a winky face.

His phone pinged with an unfamiliar text tone. 

**Cas:** This is a date, correct?

He shot back a swift response, eyes crinkling under his wide smile.

 **Dean:** Hell yeah it is ;)

Lastly, he sent Charlie a short, sweet message.

**Dean:** Thanks. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I forgot this month's contest was happening until three days before. Needless to say, there was some major panic. That's most likely why it's now past midnight at the time of me posting this, and why I literally just finished this bad boyo. Gosh, Darnit I'm going to be sleep-deprived, but I always am, so what's new?  
> Thank you Big D, holy shite balls I would've been ducked without you. Thanks for the whole royal jelly idea, you saved my hide big time.


End file.
